Page 70 of Remembering Passion

Damien chuckled. “You’ll need to ask Van, but if my firsthand knowledge is correct, the short answer is no. The long answer is probably for a very short time in the summer.”

The city of Ashland, Wisconsin, was absolutely quaint. Not only were the buildings in pristine condition out of some 1960s movie, but many of the buildings had beautiful murals painted on the sides. Despite the cold, Main Street was lined with flowerpots filled with colorful and no doubt, hardy flowers. Michael drove us to the front of a large white hotel on the shore of Chequamegon Bay. Stepping within, we were met with warmth and the scent of burning wood. Tall wooden pillars, ornate trim, and charming antique furnishings added to the ambience, the sensation of stepping back in time.

When Damien gave the woman his name, she turned to me. “And you are Gabriella Crystal?”

“I am.”

“Just a moment,” she said as she concentrated on the computer screen before her. Soon, she handed me a keycard in an envelope. “Here is your key and room number. You’re in a king-size suite overlooking the lake.”

My lips curled upward. “Thank you,” I replied, accepting the key.

“And now for your room, Mr. Sinclair.”

As the woman took care of Damien, I walked near the fireplace, peering out toward what she called a lake view. I supposed Chequamegon Bay was part of Lake Superior. Instead of concentrating on the proper description for the body of water, my thoughts lingered on the reality that two rooms had been booked. That discovery reminded me of what Damien said about why we hadn’t—why he hadn’t—touched me like he had a week ago. Funny how the knowledge that he respected my boundaries made me want to change them.

Taking in the atmosphere, I made a complete circle, landing my sight back on the incredibly handsome man at the counter.

Damien turned, his smile on full display. “Ms. Crystal, our rooms are near one another. Shall we take our luggage upstairs? And then we have one stop before we meet Van and Julia.”

As we walked toward the elevator, each pulling our own suitcase, I asked, “What is our stop?”

“The nice woman at the counter recommended a boutique in town.”

“For what?”

“To get you a coat.”

The elevator doors opened, we stepped inside, and Damien pushed the button to the top floor.

“I have plenty of coats at home. Maybe if I had packed for myself…”

“You would have thought of a coat for a late-May weekend trip?”

My smile grew as I shook my head. “In all honesty, probably not. So, you’re forgiven. I don’t need a coat.”

“I held your hand when we entered the car and felt how cool it was.” The doors opened to the top floor, and we stepped out. Damien again reached for my hand and leaned his forehead toward mine. “I’m not working this hard to win you back to lose you to pneumonia.”

“You aren’t always an ass.”

His grin quirked. “That’s good to know.”

“Sometimes you can be charming.”

“I shouldn’t be responsible for my behavior when we’re together.” He kissed my forehead, and his timbre lowered. “I’m intoxicated by your presence.”

Warmth bubbled within me, taking away the cold of the outdoors.

Don’t hurt me.

The words were on the tip of my tongue.

No matter what I told myself about having a life away from Damien, when I was with him, I wanted him. Each day, hour, minute, that hunger grew.

Was that what he meant by being intoxicated, the point when rational judgment leaves and desire takes over?

Swallowing my concerns, I forced a smile. “I’m going to my room and freshen up.”

His grasp of my hand lingered.

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